


The Care and Feeding of Drugged Sirens

by dreamiflame



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Kissing, Multi, Neck Kissing, No Sex, Pre-Relationship, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-02 22:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21168722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/pseuds/dreamiflame
Summary: When Napoleon gets drugged, AGAIN, Gaby and Illya try to take care of him. Again.





	The Care and Feeding of Drugged Sirens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coaldustcanary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/gifts).

> I loved your prompt for a supernatural AU! I hope this fits with what you wanted.
> 
> Thank you to my long suffering beta for help above and beyond.

As though the universe's apology for Napoleon’s siren abilities to seduce people in just a few words, the American turns out to be ridiculously susceptible to potions and drugs. This is not a comfort to his friends.

“Illya!” Gaby calls when she finally wrestles the door to their current safe house open. Napoleon is practically humping her leg, his mouth fastened to the side of her neck and his hands trying to be everywhere. It’s not the first time, and it isn’t entirely unpleasant, but Napoleon isn’t in his right mind right now, either.

And Gaby is a werewolf, not a witch like Illya. She can’t whip up an antidote to whatever potion is dilating Napoleon's eyes and making his skin hot as balefire.

Napoleon cups one of her breasts and slides his other hand up under her skirt, and Gaby slaps his hands away without pushing him off her entirely, because the potion is also fucking with Napoleon’s balance. She kicks the door shut. “Illya!”

“I heard you,” he says, coming in and immediately taking in the situation. He curses in Russian. “What is he on now?”

Napoleon is more than happy to transfer his attentions to Illya when he gets close enough, and wraps his hands around Illya’s shoulders to drag him down, mashing their mouths clumsily together.

Illya goes still.

Gaby wipes her mouth off, remembering the moment earlier when she had been foolish enough to let Napoleon do the same to her. She figures it’ll be a good ten minutes before Illya recovers from that. Sighing, she goes to pull Napoleon off their Russian before Napoleon manages to cross all of Illya’s danger lines.

Napoleon promptly wraps himself back around her with a moan, and sucks another hickey onto her neck. Gaby sighs again.

Even Napoleon’s bad kisses are potent. Sirens are like that.

She mutters to herself in German as she manhandles Napoleon into the bathroom. It’s small, but that just means it’s easier for Gaby to block him in against the tub. 

“Undress,” she says, and Napoleon gives her the most ridiculously happy grin as he obeys, tearing most of his shirt buttons off as he gets naked.

“I knew you’d come around,” he says, because she’d prevented him from doing exactly this earlier, when they were still out in public. Gaby suppresses another sigh.

Napoleon is beautiful, and he knows it. Unclothed, he poses for her, his cock standing proud and thick between his thighs. “A bedroom would probably be better for this, though.” He reaches for himself and starts to stroke.

Illya makes an annoyed noise behind her. “Why is he naked now?” he says crossly. “I was only stunned.”

Gaby gestures to the tub, ignoring Illya for now. “Get in the tub, Napoleon.”

He gives her a sweet, impish smile. “Are you joining me?” He’s still stroking himself, slow and sensual, showing off.

As always.

Still, Gaby has to swallow hard before she trusts her voice again. Damn Sirens.

“In,” she orders. Napoleon pouts but obeys. “Cold shower,” she says, and if anything, his pout gets deeper.

“Now,” she growls, letting the nearness of the full moon fill her voice.

Both men jump, and even with the potion riding him, Napoleon cringes in on himself a little. “You don’t need to shout,” he grumbles, and reaches for the taps, sliding the curtain across.

Gaby shuts the door and turns to face Illya, leaning against the bathroom portal. “I have no idea what he’s on,” she answers his first question, as though none of the rest of it has happened. “But it’s clearly some kind of sex potion. He’s been like that for nearly an hour.”

Illya’s eyebrows are near his hairline. “Potent,” he says, and frowns. “He tasted like elderflower.”

Gaby honestly barely remembers anything of Napoleon’s kiss beyond the way it made her head fuzzy and her heart race. “If you say so. Do you know what you need to make for an antidote?”

He shakes his head, but his eyes are calculating. “Not for sure. Not without knowing what he was fed. I don’t suppose you got the rest of the drink?”

She snorts. “The way Napoleon is with alcohol? You know I didn’t.”

Illya sighs. “Then I suppose we will just have to wait it out. How has his heart been?”

Gaby thinks about it. Napoleon has been all over her since he was dosed, and much of that time she could hear his heart, despite his distracting actions. “It’s fast, but steady. What should I be listening for?”

This close to moonrise, her senses are sharper than either of theirs, even if Illya is still better at identifying flavors. Illya frowns again.

“If it keeps getting faster, or starts to go thready,” he says. They both look at the bathroom door as the handle rattles. The shower is still going inside, but Napoleon is clearly trying to break out. The door shakes under Gaby's back.

“Get back in the shower!” Gaby yells. She grips the handle to keep it from turning.

“But it’s cooooold!” Napoleon whines. “I don’t want to, Gaby.”

“I don’t care!” she says. “I’m going to have to wear turtlenecks for a week, get in the damn shower!”

Napoleon makes a pitiful noise, but the handle stops rattling, and the water starts sounding like he’s back under the spray. Illya tips her chin up to look at her hickeys.

“I have a salve for that,” he offers.

Gaby wrinkles her nose. “That one you use on your bruises, that smells like cat urine and patchouli?”

Illya’s spine stiffens despite his bent posture. “Yes, that salve.”

She almost passes, but it’s the wrong time of year for turtlenecks. “How fast does it work?”

“Fast,” Illya says.

The water turns off, and the door opens behind Gaby. She falls onto a wet, cold Napoleon. He steadies her without trying anything, and Gaby turns her head.

He’s no longer pumping out pheromones, and his eyes are going back to normal. He shivers in his thick towel.

“Does someone want to tell me what I got dosed with this time?” he asks.

Illya peers into his eyes. “Ah, elderflower,” he says, like that explains everything. “You say it was nearly an hour?”

“Yes,” Gaby says.

“Amazing. Cowboy, you have the worst resistance I’ve ever seen to any magic but your own.”

“Thanks,” Napoleon says. “Sorry about before.” His eyes cut to Gaby. “And about your neck.”

They both wave it off. Napoleon shivers again.

“Clothes,” he says, and heads to his room.

Illya heads to his, mumbling something in Russian that sounds like a fragment of poetry, or maybe a spell.

Gaby brushes herself off and follows. “I will take that salve,” she says.

He tosses her the jar, warm from his pocket and witch-green. And goes to his books, pulling down a grimoire that looks like it might be older than her uncle. Illya flips through the pages, and by the time Napoleon joins them again, dashing and handsome in a new outfit, he’s running his finger down a page and nodding.

“Kiss of the nymph,” he announces. “Or, something like that in English. It makes you suggestive, and open to sex.”

“That much was obvious,” Napoleon says. “Any lingering effects I should be wary of?”

“Not this time,” Illya says after a moment of reading. “You were lucky, though. It can bind you to the person you have sex with.”

Gaby doesn’t like the sound of that. “What about kissing?”

Illya gives her a look. “You think we can get rid of him at this point? He is still alive, no?”

It makes them all chuckle a little, but still…

“It’s a good thing you came to me,” she says to Napoleon.

Napoleon looks like he wants to make a flip comment, but for once, he seems sincere when he says, “There was never anyone else I wanted to go to once it hit, Gaby. Not until we got back here.”

Illya makes a rude noise, and Napoleon gives him the finger. Gaby preemptively steps between them.

“Do we know an antidote for next time?” she asks, and Illya goes back to his book.

“Yes,” he says, “but it’s good we didn’t need it today. It takes a full three days to brew.” His look at Napoleon is both exasperated and fond. “You are much work, Cowboy.”

“Back at you, Red,” Napoleon says, but his voice is equally fond, and Gaby smiles at her men.


End file.
